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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23959318">a (former) setter’s confession</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account'>orphan_account</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Haikyuu!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Fluff, HQ!! S3 spoilers, M/M, Mild Swearing, Mutual Pining, Please join me in crying over SemiShira crumbs, Pretty Setter Squad, Volleyball, Volleyball Dorks in Love</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 15:41:57</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,079</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23959318</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Bring the ball to the spiker. </p><p>To Ushijima.</p><p>That is Semi Eita’s role in the team.</p><p>Or so he thought. </p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Semi Eita/Shirabu Kenjirou</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>206</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>a (former) setter’s confession</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>A self-indulgent SemiShira fic to satiate my yearning for my two (salty) setters. Best listened to <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sifPKltTeq4"> Sunflower</a> by Rex Orange County. You're welcome.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Bring the ball to the spiker. </p><p>To Ushijima.</p><p>That is Semi Eita’s role in the team.</p><p>Or so he thought. </p><p>Two months before Inter-High, the Shiratorizawa volleyball team’s routine remains the same: morning and after-class training. Stretching, then a few laps back and forth the gym. Practice matches are usually between the seniors, plus the team’s start-ups, and the team’s freshmen and rookies. If Coach Washijō was pleased with their performance, he’d set-up practice matches with players from college volleyball teams. </p><p>Nothing is out of the ordinary — to others at least. </p><p>To Semi, it feels like the calm before the storm. The unease he has, while watching Shirabu Kenjirō set, grew on him. The second-year possesses more technique and precision, whereas Semi’s known for his consistent sets. Determination, focus, and perfection defines Semi’s <em>kouhai</em> (Tendō’s words, not his) on court. </p><p>Shirabu Kenjirō is considerably better than Semi Eita, which Coach Washijō doesn’t miss. </p><p>The second set of the practice match ends with the seniors winning: <strong>25-22</strong>. A few weeks ago, the opposing team was 10 points behind. Even so, it doesn’t waver first-year Goshiki Tsutomu’s spirit and declares himself the future ace of Shiratorizawa. Shirabu, on the other hand, meets Semi in the eye and walks away. </p><p><em>I’m going to beat you</em>, that’s what the gaze said. </p><p>For the first time, Semi feels threatened and <em>challenged</em> to safeguard his position in the regular roster and as setter. He wants to continue to set for Ushijima, a dear friend of his, but there lies a painstaking attraction Semi has whenever Shirabu tossed the ball. They aren’t the kind of sets Ushijima likes, but improvements can be made.</p><p>Either way, Shirabu has never apologized for his sets because he knows what they’re worth.</p><p>Semi chugs from his water bottle and warily watches Shirabu, who silently scolds Goshiki <em>again</em>. Tendō, aware of Semi’s trance, leaps in front of him and blocks his line of sight. A sigh escapes from Semi’s lips; there’s no escaping the Guess Monster.  </p><p>“My, my, my!” Tendō chirps. “Semi-Semi, you should guard your position more! Looks like your <em>kouhai</em> is out to get it.” </p><p>“Yeah. Looks like it,” Semi mumbles. <em>No need to remind me</em>. </p><p>A heavy hand rests on his shoulder. Semi glances at Reon. The wing spiker offers not a look of pity but a reassuring one. He knows that his friend detests being pitied upon. Who would, anyway?</p><p>“You’re still part of our team, no matter what position you play,” says Reon.</p><p>Semi scoffs. “I know that. But you can’t deny the fact that <em>he</em> has more talent than I have,” he counters. </p><p>Reon hums in reply; Tendō’s eyes flit between Semi and Shirabu. The latter seems to have sensed that three of his <em>senpais</em> are gawking at him because he turns his head in the opposite direction, away from their gazes.</p><p>Semi clenches his fists. A heavy and foreign feeling settles in his gut. Is it anger? Jealousy? <em>Admiration</em>? One thing is for sure: Whatever he feels is explicitly directed to Shirabu Kenjirō, that gifted and good-looking—</p><p>Reon’s voice snaps Semi out of his thoughts. “Let’s go. I don’t want additional drills.”</p><p>With a consternated look on his face, Semi trails behind his friends. Did he just call Shirabu <em>good-looking</em>? With <em>that</em> kind of haircut? </p><p>“Y’know,” Tendō trills, “I’m starting to think that you and your <em>kouhai</em> might have an ‘enemies to lovers’ kind of thing.” His friend, however, doesn’t reply and pays attention to Coach Saitō. </p><p>Not much is said other than the players’ points to improve on and additional information on upcoming Inter-High. Coach Washijō is a man of few words — with the motto he lives by — but it’s disconcerting for him to seclude himself from everybody as he sits on the bleachers. </p><p>Semi sneaks a look behind. </p><p>“Ah, shit,” he mutters. The old man seems to be surveying him. </p><p><em>This is it,</em> Semi bitterly thinks while they bow and express their thanks. The next thing he hears is the request for the seniors to stay for a few minutes. Coach Washijō would like a word with them.</p><p>Semi ignores the shared worrisome looks of his teammates. Instead, joins Ushijima and together, they cross the court. Each step feels heavier than the last and Semi’s heart thuds against his ribcage. He tries to keep a straight face, but his lips quiver. </p><p>Ushijima stops in his tracks. “Semi.” His companion stops as well and turns to face him. Though Ushijima’s stoic facial expression betrays no sign of pity, his eyes soften upon looking at Semi. </p><p>“Never think of it as a replacement.” </p><p>“Right,” Semi croaks.</p><p>The air between them tenses — not even Tendō can slip in a sly remark to lighten the mood. He feels the coaches’ fiery gazes fixated on him. A lump in his throat forms, one that Semi can’t swallow. </p><p>Though anxious, he clings onto his pride like a lifeline. <em>This is all I have</em>, Semi thinks.</p><p>But if it’s not a replacement, then what is it? Is there any truth that looks on someone with benign eyes and consoling words? </p><p>Semi doubts there is. </p><p>The words of their coach float one ear in and out the other. Only the words “Shirabu”, “setter”, and “pinch server” linger in Semi’s mind. Disappointment weighs heavily on Semi’s shoulders, a bit too heavy to bear, but what choices does he have? </p><p>For one, he can sulk and preferably despise Shirabu Kenjirō and his bowl-cut hair. Or two, he will make each minute he spends on-court count and teach his <em>kouhai</em> a thing or two. </p><p>Two seems like a pain, though.</p><p>“That pretty bastard,” Semi grumbles as he swings his bag over his shoulder. He raises a hand at his friends as a good bye and leaves the gymnasium, muttering under his breath. </p><p>The rest of the seniors watch their friend’s retreating figure, eyebrows raised and utterly confused. They all share the same thought, though: <em>Did Semi just call Shirabu</em> <em><strong>pretty</strong></em>?</p><p>“It’s gonna be a rough one for our Semi-Semi, don’tcha think?” Tendō comments, an amuse smirk curling on his lips. </p><p>Indeed, it’s sure to be a hell of a ride for Semi Eita — and a disaster of sorts.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Only three weeks have passed since Shirabu won over the position and yet Semi feels he’s growing white strands underneath his natural, ashy hair. The word “replacement” still leaves a bitter taste in his mouth and sours his mood whenever he thinks about it. </p><p>So, “won over” it is. </p><p>Being Shiratorizawa’s setter is a pain in the ass — thanks to Coach Washijō’s <em>comprehensive</em> comments. Teaching an impassive and sarcastic <em>kouhai</em> of Semi’s is a whole new level of difficult. Goshiki would’ve been a better student than Shirabu if not for Goshiki’s pride. </p><p>Also, Shirabu’s bowl-cut of a hairstyle doesn’t pacify the situation. </p><p>
  <em>“Can you even see with that kind of hair?!” Semi hissed while doing their two-on-two setting drills. </em>
</p><p><em>“I don’t see the problem with my hair, Semi-</em>san<em>,” the second-year coolly replied. “What I did notice, though, was that your jump serves haven’t been going the direction you want it to be.” </em></p><p>
  <em>And without another word, Shirabu walked away, leaving his senpai stunned and pissed. </em>
</p><p>Semi’s <em>second</em> pair of chopsticks break, making the setter—<em>pinch server</em> mutter a string of curse words. He abruptly stands up. Tendō cringes at the screeching noise of the chair’s legs scraping against the tile and complains to Ushijima and Reon that Semi disturbed his reading.</p><p>Shirabu isn’t wrong, though, about Semi’s serves. The ball was launched at the perfect height; Semi’s legs chased the ball’s direction; and he jumped as high as he could’ve.</p><p>And yet, it was either received perfectly by Hayato or landed out of bounds. </p><p>“<em>Tch</em>.” </p><p>With a new pair of chopsticks at hand, Semi returns to the table. A few moments ago, Reon occupied the now empty seat. All that’s left is his unfinished tray of food and his blazer draped behind the chair. <em>Maybe he went to the restroom</em>. Semi takes his seat and begins to peel off the wrapper of his chopsticks. </p><p>“Poor chopsticks,” Tendō taunts. “Be careful with those, Semi-Semi.”</p><p>“Are you OK, Semi?” asks Ushijima. With that steady gaze of his, Semi already feels the guilt for entertaining the thought of lying about his main stressor: Shirabu Kenjirō. </p><p>Semi looks down on his tray. “I’m fine, Wakatoshi,” he lies and slowly begins to eat his rice. </p><p>“Semi-Semi is close to disowning his <em>kouhai</em>.” Their red-haired friend nudges Semi by the shoulder. “Am I right?” When it comes to teasing and overstating, Tendō Satori is quick to drop his Jump and start quips in the group.</p><p>Ushijima blinks at Semi. “Disown? Semi, you’re not Shirabu’s father.” </p><p>Tendō’s shoulders violently shake with the suppressed laughter. “That’s not what I meant, Wakatoshi-<em>kun</em>. It’s more of, Semi-Semi’s running thin on patience. Right, Semi-Semi?” </p><p>“Shut it, Satori,” Semi snaps. His fingers curl around the chopstick as though he wants to stab Tendō’s thigh with it.</p><p>“Oi, you might break—“ </p><p><em>Snap</em>! </p><p>The red-hair guffaws and indulges himself in Semi’s frustrations in two of his stressors that lunchtime: Shirabu and his <em>third</em> broken pair of chopsticks. This catches the attention and “<em>Shhhh</em>!”s of the students, who sit near them. With another groan, Semi pushes his tray away, presses his forehead on the table’s surface, and closes his eyes. </p><p>
  <em>This is hopeless. </em>
</p><p>Although he’s acutely aware of the reasons behind Shirabu’s placement, Semi often questions why. Why he never received a decent response from his <em>kouhai</em>; why Shirabu chose to have that ridiculous haircut when they already have Goshiki’s; why none of it works well for Semi; why Shirabu looks so graceful— </p><p>Tendō’s manic laughter subsides and calls out: “Reon! Have you seen Hayato around?” </p><p>“I think he was talking to Shirabu.”</p><p>Semi lightly thumps his forehead on the table. What is with today, especially with Shirabu? Is this the new plague in the volleyball team, one that specifically haunts Semi wherever he goes? Shirabu, this and Shirabu, that? </p><p>No one in the team calls it a day until they hear Semi’s nagging and Shirabu’s curt replies. </p><p>And no one dares tell Semi that they sometimes catch Shirabu simpering whenever he hears his<em> senpai</em>’s grumbles in the club room.</p><p>It’s rather entertaining to see Semi flustered over his <em>kouhai</em> — to Tendou, at least. </p><p>“What happened to Semi?” Reon asks.</p><p>He lifts his head and rests his chin on the table. “Are you gonna laugh at me, too?” Semi asks Reon, who has an amused look on his face. </p><p>“You look helpless,” he comments. After giving his thanks, he continues to finish the food on his tray. They’re now accustomed to what they call, “Semi’s breakdowns feat. Shirabu.” </p><p>“I know that,” Semi mutters.</p><p>Tendō reaches for the unopened milk carton on Semi’s tray. Semi lets it pass — albeit, begrudgingly — because his appetite dissipates. Thinking of the bowl-cut haired boy 2.0 — as Goshiki’s 1.0 — certainly takes a toll on Semi’s appetite. </p><p>He simply can’t accept his loss just yet. </p><p>On his final year of high school, it should’ve been the five of them conquering the Nationals together: he, Ushijima, Tendō, Yamagata, and Ōhira. It starts and ends with them. </p><p><em>It should’ve been.</em> </p><p>“Do you think I should just let him be?”</p><p>The table falls silent. </p><p>“Perhaps,” comes Ushijima’s reply. “Shirabu wouldn’t have made it to the team if he didn’t rely on his capabilities. Though his sets may not be as consistent as yours—“ Semi beams “—we have to trust that he will bring the best out of his teammates when time comes.” </p><p>Tendō hums thoughtfully. “Our miracle boy has a point.” It’s the first sensible remark Tendō has made that day. “Our Shirabu-<em>kun</em> can handle himself, so there’s no need to worry. His <em>senpai</em> taught him well.” </p><p>Semi rolls his eyes. “Yeah, right.”</p><p>Reon nods. “He can keep Goshiki grounded, so I have little to worry about.” He sets his chopsticks down and leans forward, studying Semi. </p><p>“What’s strange to me is that you seem to be too…interested in Shirabu.”</p><p>Semi sits upright, alarmed and flabbergasted. “Am not!” </p><p>Tendō slurps the remaining of what’s left in the carton. “This is interesting…” He addresses Ushijima: “What do you think of Semi’s conundrum?”</p><p>“<em>Conundrum</em>? Seriously?!”</p><p>The red-hair dismissively waves a hand. “Shhhh! Miracle boy speaks.” </p><p>“I think that as Shirabu’s senior, he ought to look over and guide them to the excellence of Shiratorizawa’s team,” the captain plainly replies. “I don’t see any problem with that.”</p><p>A sigh of relief slips from Semi’s lips. “Thanks, Wakatoshi.” </p><p>Tendō, defeated with the straight-forward reply of their captain, says nothing. The three quietly ate their lunch, enjoying the comfortable silence. Semi’s going to miss these times of familiarity. </p><p>“Oh, look! It’s Semi-Semi’s <em>kouhai</em>.” </p><p>They follow Tendō’s gaze. The team’s setter and libero converse by the cafeteria’s doors. It didn’t last long. Shirabu bows to his <em>senpai</em> and glances at their table before walking away. Upon seeing their company, Yamagata waves at them and makes his way to the line.</p><p>Semi can’t fight his curiosity. “What do you think was Shirabu talking to Hayato about?” he wonders, still staring at the spot, where Shirabu stood. </p><p>“I think he was talking about you,” Tendō suggests. “I hope Hayato gets an extra milk carton.” </p><p>“You’ve had three today, Tendō,” Ushijima says, as a matter of fact. </p><p>Their conversation of milk and calcium becomes white noise to Semi. He keeps thinking about how Tendō Satori, the notable Guess Monster, can be right. And that leads to certain <em>complications</em>. </p><p>A part of Semi hopes that it isn’t the case — that Shirabu only spoke to Hayato about volleyball tactics or something; the other half hopes on Tendō’s hunch. </p><p>“Ah, yeah!” Yamagata exclaims after he takes his seat. “Semi, Shirabu…” </p><p>“<strong><em>What about Shirabu?</em></strong>” </p><p>Semi Eita is slowly losing his wits over Shirabu Kenjirō and his absurd hair. </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Confusion is one thing that Semi can handle because all you have to do is <em>ask</em>. </p><p>Cluelessness is a whole new different to Semi. Poor boy can’t even focus that Semi received the ball with his face and two of his jump serves were a net fault. Furious, Coach Washijō made him run laps around the gym until he “got his act together.” </p><p>Semi’s mind is preoccupied with not only Shirabu and Yamagato’s conversation during lunchtime but also his conversation the libero before training started: </p><p>
  <em>“You’re stressing yourself too much, Semi,” Yamagato said. “The last thing we need is you absent at the Inter-High.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>His companion only stared at him, mouth agape. “What makes you say that?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I’m just saying. You’ve been acting so stiff and frantic lately.” Yamagato mumbled after: “Sometimes, I wonder if you’re able to sleep.” </em>
</p><p>It hits differently when his fellow teammates constantly ask him if he’s OK. </p><p>Semi Eita feels anything but OK. </p><p>He wanders into the club room, shoulders slumped and barely able to keep his eyes open. Today is one of the few exhausting days Semi’s had for a while. The rest of the team seem to have picked up Semi’s despondent mood and leave him be. Conversations between them are hushed (except for Tendō pestering Kawanishi) and brief. The young ones bid their good-byes and leave the room, eager to head back to their dorms: only the third-years, Shirabu, and Kawanishi remain. </p><p>Semi staggers toward the spare chair by the corner of the room and collapses on it. His muscles have gone numb. With much effort, Semi extends his legs and bends forward to reach his toes. The burning sensation in his thighs and bruises on his forearms will keep him up tonight. </p><p>“Ah—“  </p><p>Someone stands in front of Semi. </p><p>There’s something particular about his presence that Semi can’t mistake him for anybody else: Semi doesn’t even need to look. </p><p>“Semi-<em>san</em>.” </p><p>Semi slowly straightens and offers Shirabu a tired smile. Behind the setter, Kawanishi’s hand is clamped over Tendō’s mouth and half-drags the Guess Monster out of the room; Tendō gives him a thumbs-up before disappearing into the hallway. Like always, Ushijima doesn’t pay attention to his troublesome teammates. He gathers his belongings and before leaving, he reminds them to lock-up. </p><p>Shirabu notices the absence of others and sighs. It would’ve have bothered Semi that they’re left alone because more often than not, Shirabu’s lack of expression irks him. Yet, he’s rather relieved to be with someone, who likes to keep to himself and spares everybody little thought.</p><p>A pack of relief patches is handed to Semi. “You’re going to need it more than I will,” Shirabu explains. </p><p>Semi blinks at him before shaking his head. “It’s fine. I can last a good walk to the dorm, so don’t worry.” Grunting, he stands up and walks over to his locker to pack up. <em>When has Shirabu been generous? </em></p><p>“I doubt that you wouldn’t collapse on the way downstairs,” Shirabu deadpans. </p><p>Semi hums as he slings his bag over his shoulder. He looks over to Shirabu, who’s neatly dressed even if they’re both headed back to the their dormitories. Boy can clean up well, Semi thinks and his cheeks flush at the thought. To avoid Shirabu’s gaze, he crouches down and pretends to tie his shoelaces. </p><p>“Semi, your shoelaces are tied.” </p><p><em>Semi</em>. </p><p>Both of them meet each other’s gazes: Semi, impressed at his <em>kouhai</em>’s guts and Shirabu, wide-eyed at the fact that he referred to his <em>senpai</em> using his surname alone. None of them say anything until Semi approaches the pink-cheeked second-year. (A silent thanks is said to Kawanishi for keeping Tendō’s nose out of this situation.)</p><p>“It’s fine if you call me that,” Semi says, breaking the awkward silence. “Besides, I don’t think—“</p><p>“Did Yamagato-<em>san</em> talk to you today?” </p><p>Semi pauses. “Yeah, he did.”</p><p>“Aren’t you going to ask me why I was talking to him?” Shirabu leans against the wall. “Tendō-<em>san</em> was first to ask. Don’t you wanna know?” His tone isn’t mocking nor probing; Shirabu only means to ask and Semi understands.</p><p>“It’s not really my business, is it? Besides—“</p><p>“So you <em>don’t</em> want to know,” Shirabu concludes, pinching on the fringe of his bangs. </p><p><em>He sure likes to interrupt people</em>, Semi thinks, a bit agitated. <em>And conscious about his hair, too, that idiot. </em></p><p>The third-year raises his hands up in defeat. “Whether or not you want to tell me, that’s on you,” he simply says. “But I get the feeling that it’s about me—“ </p><p>“You’re not wrong.” </p><p>Semi falls silent and a frown tugs on his lips. What could Shirabu Kenjirō say about him?</p><p>“Look, if this is about how I nag you during—“</p><p>“I think you’ve been overworking yourself and it’s not doing you any good,” Shirabu says pointedly. “You don’t have to prove—“ </p><p>“Well, I <em>want</em> to,” Semi blurts out. “But if this is the position I’m given, then I’ll give it my all. You do your part and I do mine — simple as that.”</p><p>He means every word he said and he knows that Shirabu’s aware of that as well. </p><p>Shirabu looks up at the ceiling for a few moments. “That’s what I admire about you…” he mumbles. </p><p>Confused, Semi cocks his head to the side. “Hm? I didn’t catch that.”  </p><p>“At least your pride isn’t as far-fetched as Goshiki’s. That’s what I said.” </p><p>The third-year snorts and limps toward the door; Shirabu follows behind him after switching off the lights. “Don’t talk big. Your haircut is as shitty as his,” Semi jibes. </p><p>“What is it with you and my hair, Semi-<em>san</em>?” the other utters. </p><p>What is it with <em>you</em>, Shirabu Kenjirō? </p><p>As much as he got on Semi’s nerves, the latter will never admit the budding admiration he feels for his <em>kouhai</em> — with exemption of his hair. (Semi doubts that he’d come around to get a new hairstyle.) Nor will he mention how he finds relaxation in taping Shirabu’s blistered fingers after training. (To be fair, he only did it twice.) </p><p>Semi Eita is too stubborn to reveal these small things out of fear for his ego. </p><p>Well,<em> not yet</em>, anyway. </p><p>That night, Semi crawls into the comforts of his bed with his phone in hand and a small smile on his lips. Reon, who busies himself with his Chemistry reviewer, stops for a few minutes and peeks over the bottom bunk. He returns to his desk and playfully shakes his head. </p><p>Semi, though barely able to keep his eyes open, reads the new messages he received while showering.  </p><p>&lt; From: <strong>Shirabu Kenjirō</strong> at <strong>8:18PM</strong> &gt; </p><p>
  <em>Take care of yourself, Semi-Semi. </em><br/>
<em>See you at training tomorrow, if your legs can make it. </em>
</p><p>&lt; To: <strong>Shirabu Kenjirō</strong> at <strong>8:40PM</strong> &gt; </p><p>
  <em>Gee, thanks for taking back the relief patches…</em><br/>
<em>For a minute I thought you were going to be nice to me as your senpai</em>
</p><p>&lt; From: <strong>Shirabu Kenjirō</strong> at <strong>8:53PM</strong> &gt; </p><p>
  <em>You said that you didn’t need them. </em><br/>
<em>It would be a waste, yknow. </em>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Semi Eita watches him from the rear guard. </p><p>After Tendō’s crappy toss to Ushijima, the ball crosses the net and into the opponent’s court. Earlier, Coach Saitō mixed up the usual teams for their practice match; the third-years are scattered into both teams. So it wasn’t a surprise that Hayato perfectly receives the ball. Its course heads for Shirabu. </p><p>Semi doesn’t take his eyes off of Shirabu and boy, is the second-year sure smug about it. </p><p>Semi doesn’t miss the small smirk tugging on Shirabu’s lips. </p><p>Damn is all the third-year thinks. He positions himself in anticipation to bump Goshiki’s spike. The ball rises above the net… Goshiki sprints to the front and jumps…</p><p>Shirabu’s wrist flicks the ball downward.</p><p>A <em>dump</em>. </p><p>“Damn you,” Semi grunts as he makes a dive to save the ball with his palm. </p><p><em>Too late</em>. </p><p>The whistle rings in the court and the point is granted to Shirabu’s team. His fellow teammates cry in excitement, though Goshiki doesn’t hide his displeasure with how the second-year put his hopes up. His <em>senpai</em> dismisses this and curtly replies, “It’s not like you could’ve made a line shot with Tendō-<em>san</em>’s blocks.” </p><p>Now fully recovered from last week’s sore muscles, Semi quickly stands up and waves off the first-year’s hand. </p><p>“You could’ve gotten the ball if you reacted a bit faster.” </p><p>Semi faces Shirabu behind the net and rests a hand on his hip. His <em>kouhai</em> busies himself with the tape peeling off his finger. “Damn it,” Semi hears Shirabu mutter. </p><p>“And you could be less of a jerk towards Goshiki,” the third-year retorts. </p><p>Shirabu clicks his tongue. “He’s a self-centered player.”</p><p>“Then maybe you should do something about it if you hate it so much.”</p><p>“Serve well”s and “One more”s echo in the court with Goshiki serving; the two look at him. </p><p>“Nice dump, though,” Semi comments, still watching Goshiki from the front.</p><p>“Maybe you should try it sometime.” </p><p><em>That cheeky bastard</em>, he thinks, quite entertained and not insulted. Soon enough, Shirabu has warmed to their usual banter. The rest of the team take notice of this change, too, but only keep to themselves — all but Tendō Satori. Whether intentional or not, one can always entrust the Guess Monster to poke fun at either of the two. </p><p>It’s natural to him, unfortunately. </p><p>“Semi-Semi, be sure to block Shirabu’s tosses!” Tendō playfully calls out to agitate the second-year setter. </p><p>Shirabu rolls his eyes and mutters something; Semi smirks and reassures his friend: “Don’t worry. I will.” </p><p>“<em>Tch</em>. You couldn’t even save the ball earlier,” the second-year mumbles. Even if he denies it, Semi noticed that the distaste for people “who are all talk and no act” does radiate from Shirabu. </p><p>Semi lightly chuckles. “Well, you better watch out, <em>Kenjirō</em>.” </p><p>His <em>kouhai</em> glances at him; his eyes slip the look of surprise he tries to mask. </p><p>The faint patter of Goshiki’s shoes and contact on the ball breaks their eye-contact and back into the game they go. Their newbie of a libero receives the ball, but it’s short. Semi makes do, anyway, and hastily sets to Ushijima. </p><p>They make the point. His teammates pat him on the back, but Semi’s mind is elsewhere. </p><p>
  <em>Maybe <strong>I</strong> should be the one watching out. </em>
</p><p>In volleyball, you are never allowed to hold the ball longer than a mere second or two, nor can you let the ball drop to the ground. Or you lose. </p><p>Is it the same when you like someone? </p><p>Semi shakes his head and moves along to center court. He avoids Shirabu’s gaze by staring at the net as the ball passes his vision — like it slows all of a sudden. Yamagata directly receives the ball to Shirabu. </p><p>Semi watches how the ball brushes Shirabu’s fingertips, how it flies, and how Reon spikes it, full on-force.</p><p>A setter’s primary role is to bring the ball to their spiker. </p><p><em>Kenjirō’s done it</em>, Semi thinks with a satisfied smile on his lips. </p><p>Semi Eita doesn’t need to worry about Shirabu as Shiratorizawa’s new setter — not anymore.</p><p>But he may have to start guarding his heart rather than the position he’s playing.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p><br/>
       <br/>
The unthinkable happens: on Karasuno High’s match point, the Shrimp (Karasuno’s #10, Hinata Shōyō) delays the tempo of his jump and conceals himself in the midst of his other teammates. Kageyama tosses the ball along with Shiratorizawa’s ticket to the Nationals. A ticket that both teams are competing for. </p><p>Semi hates the fact that the ball lies on Karasuno’s genius of a setter’s because he understands. </p><p>Once, it was Semi’s sets that brought Shiratorizawa to the Nationals. He knew the importance of his highest — and little did he know — and <em>final</em> toss to Ushijima for a kill. </p><p>Kageyama Tobio must feel the same way, too. </p><p>The orange-haired crow flies. </p><p><em>Of course it has to be the Shrimp</em>, Semi thinks bitterly. The freak duo wouldn’t be complete without Hinata’s spike and players, who have gone against Karasuno, are wary of that. Shiratorizawa is no different regardless of being a powerhouse. </p><p>“Shit!” Tendō hisses beside Semi. After the persistent one touches of Glasses Boy, the Guess Monster’s patience thinned as the matches progressed. </p><p><em>Shit, indeed</em>. </p><p>The ball only grazes Yamagato’s forearms until it rises again — like Shiratorizawa’s hopes — and falls, shattering their hearts. Semi grits his teeth and and clenches his fists. </p><p>
  <em>No. This can’t be. </em>
</p><p>He swallows his the lump in his throat and glances at the scoreboard, aware of the pain he would have to bear. </p><p>
  <strong>19 - 21. </strong>
</p><p>“Two fucking points…” Semi whispers hoarsely. <em>Damn it</em>. </p><p>Everything in him aches.</p><p>Semi came here to <em>win</em>, even as a pinch server — but so did they. </p><p>He wants to cry with his teammates, scream at the damned freak duo, and spike the ball until the floor cracks. Until all that echoes in Semi’s heart is the ball hitting the floor again and again, drowning the disappointment. The pain. The—</p><p>“We lost…” </p><p>Semi glances at Shirabu, who lingers behind his <em>senpai</em>. The setter’s head hangs low, but Semi catches the tears cascading down his cheeks and onto the linoleum floor. </p><p>Semi Eita feels his heart wrench. </p><p>The next unthinkable thing happens: Semi approaches Shirabu and gingerly wraps his arms around him. All that goes through the third-year’s head is that he can’t bear the sight of Shirabu Kenjirō limply standing there and bawling his eyes out. </p><p>Shirabu doesn’t return the embrace but clutches on the sweaty varsity shirt. </p><p>It’s Semi’s final year in Shiratorizawa, at the Sendai gymnasium, and the last match he’s going to play with the team he grew in, with his friends…</p><p><em>With him</em>. </p><p>That thought alone is enough to crush Semi’s heart into pieces but after seeing Shirabu Kenjirō so devastated and <em>vulnerable</em>.</p><p>Semi doubts if the first one hurts him more than holding him. </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>The evening breeze of early Spring rustles the calendar hanging on Semi’s closet door. A big, red, and well, <em>conspicuous</em> circle marks the 21st of March: <strong>graduation</strong>. Next to the calendar, there’s a Post-It with Tendō’s chicken scratch handwriting; the Guess Monster must’ve sticked it when he barged in the room to drag Semi into watching anime with him as a celebration. </p><p>Semi sighs and wanders towards his closet. Despite Tendō Satori’s quirks and insufferable ass, he knows that he’ll dearly miss the red-hair. Besides, he does owe Tendō for relentless urges for Semi to make a move already.</p><p>Not that it has been successful, but the thought counts. </p><p>He peels off the note and snorts. <em>Idiot</em>, Semi thinks. </p><p> </p><p>S<em>TOP BEING A CHICKEN, SEMI-SEMI!!! WE LOVE AND SUPPORT U SO GO GET UR MAN :D </em></p><p>- <strong>GUESS MONSTER </strong></p><p> </p><p>Frankly, Semi has attempted to confront his feelings for Kenjirō after their embrace in the Inter-High — and in the most Semi Eita way possible. </p><p>Like how Semi messaged Kenjirō at eight in the evening to teach him trigonometric concepts even if they’re a year apart. To Semi’s defense, he knows that the setter has been taking extra classes since the upperclassmen’s bid goodbyes and training has been surprisingly less strenuous. </p><p>Or, that one Saturday wherein Semi invited Kenjirō to go vinyl window-shopping with him for the sake of it. And… Semi doesn’t want to think about how he embarrassed himself with his absurd fashion choices. (He still regrets rejecting Yamagata and Tendō’s clothing pieces.) </p><p>Until the third-years’ class ended, Semi insisted on accompanying Kenjirō to his classes (much to the other’s chagrin) and even brought him a bento box or two. He will never forget Kenjirō <em>stammering</em> a “Thank you” in reply and how his cheeks tinted pink. It was cute, but Semi prefers his sarcasm and salty comments. </p><p>These have been the non-verbal confessions Semi put himself through and endured because Yamagata, Tendō, and Kawanishi couldn’t shut up about it. </p><p>Semi will definitely miss these times. </p><p>A light knock resounds in the room. “Come in,” Semi calls out, stuffing the note in the pocket of his hoodie. </p><p>Reon comes in with a smile on his face. “Sorry. Had to do some final academic work,” he explains as shrugs off his jacket. “I got a solid A, would you believe that?”</p><p>Semi grins. “Obviously. When have you <em>not</em> been a good student?”</p><p>His friend laughs; a hearty conversation that won’t take place anytime soon, now that Semi realizes. </p><p>“Oh, yeah. Shirabu-<em>kun</em>’s waiting for you downstairs. He looks like he’s been waiting for one of us to pop out of the dorm.” </p><p>“So he’s just been standing there?” Semi slowly replies.</p><p>“I guess so?” </p><p><em>That idiot</em>. “Thanks for letting me know, Reon.” </p><p>Semi tries not to add spring into his steps, or Reon will surely think that he’s excited to see Kenjirō — which Semi doesn’t intend on denying. There’s been enough “evidence” that the he’s… <em>attracted</em> to the second-year. But it won’t hurt to act natural, though. </p><p>Internally, Semi is completely panicking. He doesn’t know what to say, what to do, what to bring… He even looks down to check if he’s wearing clean pants. It’s a first for Kenjirō to come by his dorm since it’s always been Semi doing the first move. </p><p>Semi groans and drops his flushed face into his hands. Reon, on the other hand, chuckles and consolingly pats his friend’s shoulder.</p><p>“Calm down, Eita. He’s not going to eat you up or anything.” </p><p>“I like Shirabu…” Semi mumbles, though his words are muffled. </p><p>This makes Reon laugh harder and Semi’s face redder. “We can tell,” replies Reon. “Which is why you have to confess already. The more you sit there, the less relieved you’ll feel.”</p><p>“…He needs to get a better haircut.” Reon then loses it and crouches onto the ground in laughter. “You’re not helping!” Semi shouts and decides that it won’t make things any better if he stayed. </p><p>“I-I was… just… joking!” His friend gasps in between the hysterical laughter. “Semi!” </p><p>Semi, with his jacket hanging over his arm, is already out the door before Reon calls him back again. As he briskly walks down the hall and skips two steps down the stairs, he puts on his jacket with its inside, out. </p><p><em>I’ll be fine</em>, he thinks in hopes to ease his nerves. <em>It’s not like I’m meeting Kenjirō for the first time</em>. Not <em>meeting</em>, per se, but this visit is unlikely of Kenjirō; he likes to stick with a schedule regardless of anything, really. </p><p>In a nutshell, Shirabu Kenjirō has his shit together unlike Semi Eita, who’s trips over the last step on the way to the ground floor. Through the window, he spots Kenjirō outside, a few meters away as he faces the main doors — <strong><em>waiting</em></strong>. Their eyes meet briefly until the setter rolls his eyes. <em>Some things don’t change</em>. </p><p>“I’ll be fine,” Semi mutters to himself. <em>It’s only <strong>Kenjirō</strong></em>. </p><p>Kenjirō, one of the few people that makes Semi lose his shit; the only person he hugged without grimacing at the show affection; a brilliant setter, who Semi looks up to and has high hopes for in the future of the Shiratorizawa volleyball team.</p><p>
  <em>If I let him know that he’s <strong>special</strong>, then he’s going to shove it up everyone’s asses until I die. </em>
</p><p>Semi steps into the biting cold of the night. He wonders how long Kenjirō has been standing there and if he’s cold with the thin cardigan he’s wearing. As he approaches the second-year, Semi now notices the tint of his cheeks and his chapped lips from standing in the cold for too long. It’s the first that Semi has seen Kenjirō under the hazy lighting of the lamppost.</p><p><em>He looks like a dream</em>, Semi thinks to himself. Or a nightmare. Depends on Kenjirō’s sarcasm levels.</p><p>“Are you cold?”</p><p>“It’s fine,” he replies, bouncing on the balls of his heels. “I don’t plan on staying long, anyway. I need to review for my final test.” </p><p>Semi dismisses his remark, shrugs off his jacket, and hands it over to Kenjirō. The latter scowls, but Semi only chuckles. “Take it. I have many more at home,” he insists. </p><p>Kenjirō begrudgingly takes it and reverses the sleeves before putting it on. The jacket’s sleeves drapes over his short arms and behold, he looks like a walking sock. It’s quite endearing that Semi only blinks at him for a few moments. </p><p>“You have shitty fashion taste.” </p><p>“You’re stupid if you think that I didn’t know that,” Semi retorts. </p><p>Kenjirō rolls his eyes again. “<em>Tch</em>. I’m only reminding you to go shopping.” </p><p>“Yeah, yeah. Maybe I will.” The other shrugs casually. “What’re you doing here, anyway?” </p><p>“I want to talk to you, Eita.” </p><p><em>Eita</em>. </p><p>Has it gone down to this? </p><p>Semi feel his fingers numb — not from the cold but from the anxiety he feels in his chest; he’s well acquainted with the sudden pace of his heart. In Semi’s eyes, the world slows and he only focuses his gaze on Kenjirō — and his lips. </p><p>Shirabu Kenjirō, the only person that makes Semi Eita feel this way. </p><p>Perhaps… perhaps he likes the bowl-cut brat more than he liked to admit. </p><p>
  <em>I doubt that he—</em>
</p><p>“I like you, Semi Eita.” </p><p>And he says it so naturally, like they’re only having small talk. Semi has to applaud him for how well he manages his emotions whenever he’s around him. Unless… </p><p>Semi takes a small step forward, still maintaining a decent distance between the two of them. “Do you?” he breathes because his throat tightened. </p><p>“Yes, I do,” Kenjirō’s voice suddenly drops to a whisper, looking down at his shoes. He wasn’t acting coy or shy; Kenjirō just didn’t know what to do with himself. </p><p>“Well, you’re in luck.” He looks up at Semi, eyes widening with emotion. “Because I like you too, Shirabu Kenjirō. Even with your shitty haircut.” </p><p>The second-year slowly raises his hand and flips him off. “Fuck you, Eita,” he grumbles. </p><p>Semi’s laughter echoes in the deserted street of the campus; he’s never felt so relieved to hear the confession from his <em>kouhai</em>. Let alone receive a small peck from Kenjirō before he sticks his tongue out and walks back to the direction to his dorm. Stunned, Semi grazes his knuckles on his cheek — Kenjirō’s kiss being light as butterflies — and chases him down because Semi wants to walk him back. </p><p>Eita brings his setter’s heart with him upon intertwining his hand with Kenjirō’s.</p><p>This is where Eita will be for the next few days, weeks, months… Perhaps, even <em>years</em>. </p><p>Who knows what Eita’s role may be in Kenjirō’s life? </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>If you made it this far, congratulations. This is by far the longest fic I've written and I am proud of it. Kudos and comments will definitely be appreciated as for future writings to come.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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